All Things Considered
by John McKeenan
Summary: The death of a close friend reunites the Chosen Four after years out of contact.
1. Jeff

(Check the reviews for Author's Notes on each chapter.)

* * *

He almost missed the most important call of the day because of the radio.

Music always helped Jeff to concentrate for some reason. He knew plenty of colleagues who preferred total silence when they were in the zone; for Jeff, he needed some music, a beat to set his work to. He'd have Sirius tuned to Left of Center and he'd just slam through his design work, completely ensconced by the grey and brown hues of his basement office and completely entranced by the sound and the fury of college rock.

He didn't know why it was called college rock - he was 29 and it sounded like some good music to him.

Just after the Presets finished up "The Girl and the Sea", there was a station identifier that had approximately a split second of silence where he was able to hear his fianceé call down to him.

Jeff turned down the radio. "What's up, Jessica? You need something down here?"

"Phone call from England," Jessica said, her voice carrying a somber inflection that was new to Jeff's ears, "I think there's some trouble."

Jeff turned off the radio and jogged upstairs. He knew of one person who lived in England. Just one. And if this was regarding that one person...

_Shit. Here it comes._

As the grey and brown hues of the basement gave way to the black and brown hues of the kitchen, Jeff graciously took the receiver off of Jessica's hands. "Hi, this is Jeff Andonuts, how can I help you?"

"Mr. Andonuts, this is Clark More from London Hospital calling."

Jeff nodded. He didn't know why; maybe he needed to prove to himself that he understood what was coming. And with a deep breath, he said the words that he thought he'd feel worse about saying. "Is this in regards to my father, Neil?"

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Andonuts. He passed this morning after a bout with colon cancer. We're notifying you as per his instructions."

Again with the nodding. "Thank you very much, Mr. More," said Jeff, "Can we make arrangements to fly him over here to Toronto?"

"A flight has already been booked as that was also per his instructions. I'll give you a moment to procure pen and paper."

"For...oh, for the flight information! Thank you!" He headed for the refridgerator whiteboard and grabbed a washable black marker to write with.

He saw that Jessica had not left the kitchen, and that she was carrying a quiet anxiety about her, as if she was waiting to see how badly her best friend got beaten up by a bully. Her understanding of the situation seemed to begin when Jeff began to take down the flight information; as soon as he finished, he wrote on top of all of it "DELIVERY OF NEIL ANDONUTS' BODY".

He saw Jessica look down, bite her lower lip.

As soon as Jeff finished up his phone call, he walked over to his now in mourning bride to be and opened his arms for her to embrace. She did so willingly; Jeff would hold her right back, letting go just for one moment to take off his glasses when he felt himself start to tear up.

"Are you okay?" asked Jessica.

"I'll be okay," he said, "thank you."

"I just...I know I never met the man, but with him being your father and all..."

"I know," said Jeff, "but I haven't really been in touch with him either." He let go of Jessica and propped himself up on the counter. "I mean, he was a great man, I loved him. I just...I guess I'm just too focused on this goddamn deadline Morrison has me on." Jeff paused here, trying to figure out a way to make this not sound cold. "I guess I just wanna get back to work."

"Can I do anything?" asked Jessica.

"Not really," asked Jeff, who kissed Jessica one last time and ran his fingers through her jet-black hair, which she responded to by ruffling his sandy blonde hair. Jeff broke away and headed downstairs--

_Wait--I know some people who'll wanna know, don't I?_

"Actually, Jess," said Jeff, spinning on his heel and heading for the cabinets, "There's a couple of guys I need you to contact for the wake." He pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote down three names, three names he was just dying to get reacquainted with, even if it was at a wake and a funeral. "They should be in my black book by the computer, but I figure some of them might have had their numbers or addresses changed."

"Well," said Jessica, "Times like this you should be glad you're marrying a private detective."

"Yeah," grinned Jeff, handing her the sheet of paper, "In fact, I believe that's the only reason I'm marrying you."

"I'll get on it," she said, socking Jeff in the arm.

As Jeff descended back into his office, Jessica headed for her own office, ingratiating herself with the three names on the list:

**NESS FRANKLIN  
PAULA POLESTAR  
POO MISHINTA**


	2. Ness

When the soul of the seventies gave way to the excess of the eighties, the promise that a band like "Circle Twice Dot Twice" would ever come along had dried up, left unfulfilled due to the changing tastes of a nation sick of protest getting into their entertainment, instead craving a light, airy escape in the form of four minutes of sound per shot.

Yet here Ness Franklin was, listening to their lead singer lay down one of the most soulful, entertaining, and honest vocal tracks he had ever heard in his four years of producing music, or his twenty-six years of listening to it. And he was listening to it alongside his colleagues, mentors, and heroes, Luciano "Lucky" D'Amato and "Gorgeous" George Tyler.

The sound of Circle Twice Dot Twice, from what Ness heard of them in concert, wasn't terribly seventies - there was a definite influence from Blood, Sweat, and Tears, Tower of Power, and even the band his co-producers used to front, The Runaway Five. But there was also a definite influence from the alt rock bands of the 2000s, and he also thought he detected a little post rock in there. It was a unique, tasty flavor of music, one he was thrilled to help refine and bring into the world.

The track done, Ness clicked on the intercom and said "HELL of a take, Greg. Give yourself ten, you deserve it."

"Thanks, boss," Greg answered, wiping the sweat off his brow as he exited the booth.

"Any word on Columbia yet?" Ness asked Gorgeous.

"They're too busy trying to shut down BitTorrent networks," said the slim, bespectacled Gorgeous, "Look, I'm not concerned with promotion right now. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let's just keep our eye on the ball and play a little jazz with these guys so they can get the album they deserve."

"Of course, of course," said Ness, "Sorry, I'm anxious as all hell. I mean, these are probably the best guys we've ever worked with. If anyone deserves to break out--"

"Damn skippy," said the somewhat more rotund Lucky, "You see anybody blaming you, brother?"

Ness grinned, breaking his lips only to say "Not that I can find, brother."

The grin turned serious when he heard his Blackberry ring out in alarm. "Shit," he said, "That's my cue."

"The old lady?" asked Gorgeous.

"The old lady," affirmed Ness.

* * *

The confrence room in Dennis, Andersen, Carroll, & Harbor was circular and bright, with large plate-glass windows that would overlook the City of Angels, so hot today that one could see the heat bend the air it invaded. Ness and his attorney, Richard Poole, sat facing that view while Carol Ann Franklin and her army of attorneys - the name partners Jason Harbor, Sean Carroll, and Katerina Andersen - sat with their backs to it.

"Mr. Franklin," said Carroll, picking up a piece of paper, "On this sheet of paper you'll find a draft of final demands our client has. If you're not willing to answer these demands, then we'll set a court date and argue about it there. Just so we're clear, I'll read them to you: At the top of the list is the money: our client wants from you about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in alimony and three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in child support. In return for accepting this generous deal--"

"Whoa whoa whoah," Richard cut in, "Sean, this is an extremely unfair offer, you're asking my client to give up three quarters of his salary when it's not even a steady salary to begin--"

"Richard," Ness broke in, "Thanks for doing your job, but let's hear these guys out."

"In return for accepting this generous offer, we'll leave your client with the house and most of the furnishings." At this point, Ness felt his Blackberry vibrate and glanced down to check it. "Our client is going to want the plasma TV, the king sized bed and the linens..."

The text message on his Blackberry was from his secretary and the first words that caught his eye were "JEFF ANDONUTS". After that, all voices faded. Ness read through the entire text as the lawyer continued to drone on soundlessly.

NESS,

JESSICA HARDWICKE (P.I.) CALLED. CLAIMS YOU KNOW HER FIANCÉ, JEFF ANDONUTS. HIS FATHER HAS DIED. CALL 534-23-64 (CANADIAN NO.) FOR DETAILS ON WAKE.

-NANCY

"...Also in return for your cooperation, our client is willing to share custody of your child with you. As a show of good faith."

"You realize that you're dangling A CHILD'S FUTURE as a reward?" asked Richard, incredulous, "This doesn't strike you as evil in any way?"

Ness looked up in time to see Andersen lean forward. "Mr. Franklin," she cut, "let's make something clear. Our client's father is a close, personal friend of our founding name partner, Peter Dennis. And because of this, we're willing to fight to the death for her. Now, we're happy to take you to court and leave you with nothing. We don't even care if you're a good person. As far as we're concerned, if you're against our client, you're against us. And in her opinion, our client is being VERY charitable, considering all the pain and suffering you've put her through over the past ten years. So take the offer so we can start putting this behind us. Or, we'll go to court and you can look forward to a full year, maybe more, of dealing with a very pissed off law firm. We've got nothing better to do than mess with the lives of people like you."

Ness took a moment, and then said "Ms. Andersen--"

"Mrs."

"You're married? Huh. I tip my hat to the spouse. Look, I appreciate your offer. I'm going to assume based on how 'your client' hasn't opened her whore mouth throughout the whole meeting that we're playing some sort of middle school 'I'm-not-speaking-to-you' game."

THAT knocked Carol Ann for a loop, finally causing her stone face to change into a classic "I am shocked" expression. "Mr. Franklin!" shouted Harbor--

And before Harbor could finish that thought, Ness jumped back in. "So in that tradition, tell Carol Ann that my counteroffer is this: I will pay her twenty-five grand in alimony per year. I will pay her one hundred grand in child support per year. She can have custody of Robbie, because there's no disputing that I'm not around enough to help raise him. She can also have the house because Robbie doesn't deserve to be yanked from the home he's growing up in because his mother is acting like a fucktarded child."

Once again, "MR. FRANKLIN!", except now it was Harbor AND Andersen at the same time.

Still, Ness would not be stalled. "I WILL have visitation rights. Twice a week, and one weekend a month at Robbie's discretion. And I better goddamn like what I see when I come to visit. If I find out that you're drunk off your ass, coked up, not exercising discretion with one of Robbie's 'uncles'--"

"I don't like what you're insinuating about my client," Carroll cut in--

"I don't like your toupee. We're even. If I see any of that bullshit happen, so help me God, I will quit my job. I will get one with better hours. I will get a small apartment more conducive to raising a child. And I will take all that to the court, and I will yank that kid out of your arms. And just as a show of faith, as soon as you sign my counteroffer, I'm going to throw in a giant cross. Your client can take it with her to Christmas parties. And every time she bitches about how much she's sacrificed for her prick husband, she can just climb on up and nail herself to it for added effect."

"You BASTARD!" Carol Ann squeaked.

"SHE SPEAKS!" shouted Ness, "Hey, Carol Ann, you call your offer 'charity'? Toots, I need your 'charity' like I need a goddamn twig in my pisshole!"

Now all three lawyers jumped in. "**MR. FRANKLIN!**" Meanwhile, Richard looked like some kind of frightened squirrel, oblivious to any clear strategies for calming everyone down so logic could retake the reigns of this meeting. Not that much different from what he looked like once Ness started running his mouth.

"I'll take that as a rejection of my little counteroffer." Ness rose from his seat. Richard, not knowing what else to do, stood with him. "Welp," he said, stretching out, "I'm going to shove off, do something more productive with my time. Of course, that's kind of a broad subject since sterilizing my own urine to drink would be more productive than this meeting. So I'll just leave you with that thought." With that, Ness spun on his heel and headed for the glass doors seperating the confrence room from the rest of the law offices of Dennis, Andersen, Carroll, & Harbor.

"You leave this office, we'll see you in court! You will lose ever--"

"Bring it on, dickheads!" Ness left the confrence room, Richard following with notably different parting shots, namely "We'll be in touch."

* * *

"What the hell just happened in there?" Richard asked in the elevator.

"I'll deal with it when I get back."

"You've got a hell of a lot to deal with, Ness. Where are you going?"

"Toronto," said Ness as the doors opened to the lobby, "An old friend's father just died. I've got respects to pay. Call me with any developments."

He left Richard behind with the elevator, Richard still somewhat shell-shocked from the events of the past five minutes.


	3. Paula

Back when she was home, Paula Polestar used the Happy Days theme song to teach her preschoolers about the days of the week. It was cheesy, even she admitted that, but it got the job done because the kids back then weren't as...precocious as the kids she was teaching now at P.S. 43 in Fourside. The first and only time she tried that, one of the kids asked her if she was a narc.

Nowadays her style was a bit more grounded, honest, but she still had trouble letting go of the fact that these kids were only...five? Six? She had forgotten - most of them acted like criminal teenagers. One of the little darlings said something about raping her at knifepoint once.

That's not fair, though, she thought to herself as she stood in the shower, washing soap off her body. A good chunk of the kids were benign, some were even a joy to teach, had a lot of potential that was not really going to waste. The problem was there were more than enough tiny sociopaths and wannabe "gangstas" in her class to stand out, and she was running out of ways to fight back.

Yesterday she was telling a friend/colleague, Brenda, about her troubles, wondering aloud if maybe she was a bit too idealistic and naïve to think she could handle teaching in an inner-city school. "Maybe," Brenda replied, "But I've got another idea before you consider leaving."

"What's that?" asked Paula.

"First thing I should ask is if you're a lesbian. You can tell me, I can keep a sec--"

"Hey, whoa, I'm NOT a lesbi--is, is this the sex thing again?"

"Yes, it's the 'sex thing' again. You know why it's the 'sex thing' again? Because you're so goddamn uptight that I just have to keep bringing up the 'sex thing'! I mean, at this point, I'm starting to wonder if you've EVER had sex."

"I'm not a virgin!" Paula said with a too-straight face, although this was technically true. She was involved in a horrific bicycle crash when she was 17, which scratched up her face, skinned her knee, bruised a rib, and tore her hymen.

"Well, go meet the guy you gave your virginity to and jump into the sack with him! Or go to a bar, pick out a cute guy, make up a fake name, and go to bed with him! Either way, get some dick, for God's sake!"

Big help she was.

She thought about calling her father, but his obvious answer would be to come home - not necessarily for her well being, but for his. Her principal didn't want to hear any of her "whining". She was opposed to chatting up some perfect stranger in a bar. The idea of calling a stress hotline seemed so...retarded. Her options were quickly dwindling to zero

_Speaking of phone calls..._Paula hopped out of the still-running shower when she heard the phone ring, crossing her smallish studio apartment over to the end table next to the couch. "Yes, hello?" she answered as she picked up the phone.

"Hello?" asked the voice over the phone.

"This is Paula Polestar, how can I help you?"

"This IS Paula. Good, I was looking for you. My name's Jessica Hardwicke, I'm calling you from Toronto, I'm a private investigator which is how I tracked you down."

"Am I in some kind of trouble?"

"Absolutely not. My fiancé's looking for you, his name is Jeff Andonuts?"

Paula actually needed a second - just a second - to place the name before she smiled, laughed, and said, "The son-of-a-bitch is getting married! Holy shit, when's the wedding?"

"Haven't set a date yet," said Jessica, "that's why you haven't seen any invitations or anything. I'm actually calling about something else..."

Paula did not quite remember much after that - the shock of it all, trying to do the simple math in her head as if it were some complicated equation. She remembered putting clothes on, she remembered moving - maybe not walking - down the hallway to her classroom, and she remembered facing the students. She thought she said something about not being able to teach today and getting a sub, and then she found herself back at her apartment.

What she did remember clearly was the next day - driving to the airport, putting her car into long term parking, buying a economy-class ticket on the next flight to Toronto, showing off her brand-new passport, going through security check after security check after security check, downing a Malibu Baybreeze at the airport bar, boarding the plane, and the distinct feeling of flight fear as she and a bunch of other passengers, including the obnoxious kid in front of her, defied God in some pill-shaped metal container with wings.

Then she remembered thinking how miraculous it was that she was not crying, even though she had not seen Neil Andonuts since that day in Saturn Valley, just as she and her then-friends finished saving the world.


	4. Poo

Prince Poo of Dalaam, known to the Brooklyn DMV as Poo Mishinta, had been trained through Mu to empathize with people, this way they could be helped if possible and put down quickly if necessary.

Jason Porter led a hard life. His mother left his father for a Korean man, and they ended up on the streets. Porter quickly learned that the system was not doing anything for him, so he came to the conclusion at the tender age of fifteen that the only way he was going to survive was to fight the system.

This was why Poo was staring down the barrel of a nine millimeter being held by Porter as he screamed "OPEN UP THE MOTHERFUCKIN' CASH REGISTER, YOU MOTHERFUCKIN' CHINK! I'M-A PUMP YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN' YELLA ASS FULLA FUCKIN' LEAD, BITCH-ASS SLANT! MOVE IT MOTHERFUCKA! MOVE IT! BITCH-ASS MOTHERFUCKA, I'LL BLOW YA FUCKIN' ASS OFF THIS PLANET, BITCH-ASS SLANT CHINK MOTHERFUCKA!"

Poo was calm. He quietly emptied the cash register of all its money and...started counting out the bills as he sensed someone coming who would help him if he could just stall Porter a little longer.

"MOTHERFUCKA, MOVE! I AIN'T GOT NO TIME FOR YOUR ZEN CHINK-ASS BULLSHIT!"

"Must you end every other word with the word 'ass' as a suffix?" asked Poo as he kept his eyes on the bills he counted down.

"WHAT THE FUCK? OHHHH! YOU THINK THAT SHIT'S FUNNY!"

Poo thought it was hysterical, though he did not dare show it. Not that he was scared - he'd been shot about ten times on four or five different occasions and his healing powers were good to cover him. Poo was such a person that he figured that even a racist man like Porter could be shown a little respect.

_Here comes the cavalry._

"MOTHAFUCKA I'M-A SHOW YOUR STUPID CHINK ASS WHAT'S FUNNY!"

"Sir, put the gun down."

"OH, YOU WANT SOM--"

Porter had not heard the guy who just came in creep up behind him. Therefore, it turned out to be a big surprise when he turned into the guy's pistol-whip.

* * *

Hours later, after the cops spoke to Poo and the man who helped, the man introduced himself to Poo as "Roger Nichols, good to meet you." 

"You too," said Poo, "Thanks again."

"You were pretty calm back there," said Roger, "I'm impressed."

"That's just how I was raised," said Poo, "So, anything you want, on the house from now on."

"You know, I will take a Cherry Coke, thanks." Poo motioned to the fridges and Roger helped himself to a bottle of Cherry Coke. "You know, part of it was right place, right time, but I'm here for you. You were old friends with a Jeff Andonuts, correct?"

Poo chuckled a little at all the memories of the summer he had fifteen...sixteen years ago? "Wow," he said, "That's a name I didn't think I'd hear again for some reason. How is Jeff?"

"He's good. He's engaged to my employer, we work out of Toronto."

"You came from Canada to invite me to the wedding?"

"Uh...I didn't see a date set yet. Anyway, it's only a two hour flight, a little under that, and the three of us were hoping you'd accompany me on my return trip."

"What for?"

"Jeff's father just passed away. He wants you to come to the wake."

The motion of Poo's nod was calm, somber, and deliberate - as if there was a little bit of excitement that he would rather not show. "Tell me, are there any other people you had to track down to invite?"

"Yeah, a couple of people." Poo smiled. He knew exactly what this meant. "I'm prepared to stay a couple of days if you need time to get some affairs in order--"

"Just a phone call to pay my rent early. Then we'll take the next flight out of JFK to Canada. Is that okay?"

"Of course. I'll just grab some chips."


End file.
